they
were the small sums of a small exchequer, and they occurred every day,
for at the game of pool poor Layton's ball was always the first on
the retired list; and the terrible Mr. O'Shea, who observed a sort
of reserve with Charles Heathcote, made no scruple of employing sharp
practice with the tutor.

He emptied the contents of his purse on the table, and found that all
his worldly wealth was a trifle over fifteen pounds, and of this he was
indebted to Charles Heathcote some three or four,--the losses of his
last evening at the "Caprini." What was to be done? A journey to Ireland
would cost fully the double of all he possessed, not to say that, once
there, he would require means. So little was he given to habits of
personal indulgence, that he had nothing--absolutely nothing--to dispose
of save his watch, and that was of little value; a few books, indeed, he
possessed, but their worth, even if he could obtain it, would have been
of no service. With these embarrassing thoughts of his poverty came also
others, scarcely less fraught with difficulty. How should he relieve
himself of his charge of Lord Agincourt? There would be no time to write
to his guardians and receive their reply. He could not leave the boy in
Italy; nor dare he, without the consent of his relatives, take him back
to England. How to meet these difficulties he knew not, and time was
pressing,--every hour of moment to him. Was there one, even one, whose
counsel he could ask, or whose assistance he could bespeak? He ran
over the names of those around him, but against each, in turn, some
insuperable objection presented itself. There possibly had been a time
he might have had recourse to Sir William, frankly owning how he was
circumstanced, and bespeaking his aid for the moment; but of late the
old Baronet's manner towards him had been more cold and reserved than at
first,--studiously courteous, it is true, but a courtesy that excluded
intimacy. As to Charles, they had never been really friendly together,
and yet there was a familiarity between them that made a better
understanding more remote than ever.

While he revolved all these troubles in his head, he walked up and down
his room with the feverish impatience of one to whom rest was torture.
At last, even the house seemed too narrow for his restless spirit, and,
taking his hat, he went out, careless of the swooping rain, nor mindful
of the cold and cutting wind as it swept down from the last spur of